


Only Hers, Only His

by SoHereWeAre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Arranged Marriage, Cousin Incest, Cunnilingus, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Jealousy, Jon Snow Knows Something, Making Love, Missionary Position, One Shot, Orgasm, Out of Character, POV Jon Snow, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Sneaking Around, Vaginal Fingering, jonrya, shades of a dark jon snow, yes they are actually cousins but they do not know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHereWeAre/pseuds/SoHereWeAre
Summary: AU: Arya is Joffrey's betrothed as a peace offering after her sister and brother disappear, never to be heard from again. Jon arrives in Winterfell from the Wall to visit Arya on the eve before her wedding, determined to possess her and claim her maidenhead for himself. He should have realized, however, that Arya is quite capable of taking matters into her own hands.





	Only Hers, Only His

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jonarya786](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonarya786/gifts).



> A repost, because Jonarya786 missed this. :)

There was no sound in the room but the rapid pounding of Jon's own heart and the low roaring of his ears. Through the small, narrow window moonlight glared into the solar, pale and fading but encompassing the slight body sprawled over the massive bed.

He stood immobile for a moment, taking in the sight of his youngest half-sister. Arya. His head whispered her name and reminded him of her blood relation to him, but the form on the mattress did not appear to be his skinny little child sister of nine. That was when he had seen her last, and that had been seven years ago. There was nothing of that girl lying in her thin shift on her back, her legs twisted haphazardly around the sheets, slim and bare and toned, her long dark hair mussed around her shoulders, half-covering her long, angular face. She was womanly now, no doubt flowered for at least a couple of years. Jon would have railed against the time lost between them but could not find it in himself to do so as his eyes darkened in desire and longing as his gaze drank in her small yet supple breasts and her long, graceful neck.

For a moment he thought about whispering her name to rouse her but hesitated. He did not even know how she would react to him now and there was anger and resentment that bubbled inside, threatening to surface in the form of searching Winterfell for Joffrey's guest solar so he could wrap his hands around the little prick's throat and choke the life out of him. He cursed himself for leaving Winterfell for the Wall. There was little option for a bastard, he knew, but he did not realize the price for his choice. Even now, Lord Commander Mormont had been generous to send him back to Winterfell under the guise of rounding up new recruits for the Wall, conveniently at the very same time Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell, daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, was to wed Prince Joffrey Baratheon, eldest son of King Robert and Queen Cersei.

Joffrey was his age, now two-and-twenty. He could have - should have - been wed long before this. Indeed, he has been betrothed to Sansa a few years ago. That was before Robb and Sansa had ended up missing from Winterfell the morning before the wedding was to take place, and they have not been seen or heard from since. The heir to Winterfell and the potential bride of the heir to the throne were gone, as well as Robb's horse. The action tore the country apart with betrayal and scandal and threatened the alliance and friendship of the King and his best friend, until Lord Eddard counter-offered the hand of his other daughter as a peace prize. Confident there was no older brother to whisk her away, King Robert agreed, on the terms that the marriage was placed on hold for Arya to mature more, to be trained more in the social graces of a prospective princess and effectively erase her tomboyish, warrior ways.

Jon had received an anonymous letter from somewhere in Essos, explaining all of this, which he suspected was Robb. The handwriting looked deliberately different but the message was unmistakably clear.

_Another sister was in need of her brother_.

Joffrey would not be wedding and bedding Arya tomorrow night. At least, not a virginal Arya. The thought of that pale, blond-headed tyrant placing his wormy lips anywhere on Arya's body and sheathing his tiny royal cock inside to take her maidenhead sickened him, maddened him. He would risk his own life, even perish, if only to prevent his love, his heart, from being violated by a rumored sadist. Looking down at her and taking in the soft curve of her hips and narrowed waist, he knew no shame, no conscience.

_The only one he would allow her to be taken by was himself_.

Perhaps he had been spending too much time away from the actual world and had talked too much to Tormund Gianstbane to be able to allow himself to entertain such thoughts, but he could not deny them. Arya belong to him as he belonged to her. Always.

Jory had seen him and let him through the gates. He asked him to say nothing, alert no one, as it was late and he did not wish to disturb anyone's slumber. Jory eagerly complied, happy to see Jon again. It was too easy to slip inside and travel the well known path to Arya's solar, the soft tread of his boots barely registering a noise through the halls. Lucky for him her door was not bolted from the inside, and he slipped in, approaching her as a wolf does uncertain prey. 

Now, he was unsure as to what he should do. What would Robb do? What could he really do? This was different, so much more different than Sansa and Robb. He was sure Sansa left of her own accord, her dreams of marrying a sweet prince shattered when the actual day came closer. No doubt she had eventually learned of Joff's cruel and unusual behaviors and needed little coaxing to flee. But Arya? He knew she was not happy to marry the Prince. She couldn't be. Actually, Jon was amazed she had not run Needle through his cold heart already. He wasn't a beloved, legitimate Lord, however, that was able to risk the wrath of a King and his father to spirit his sister away from this disaster of a marriage. He was just a bastard, a sworn brother of the Night's Watch. 

The form on the bed writhed against the sheets and a low moan filled the room. The movement shoved her nightgown further up, exposing a lean thigh; the sight of it paired with a low, almost sexy groan found Jon shifting uncomfortably as his cock sprang to life, instantly hard against his dark breeches. _Black, always dressed in black_. Black like his heart, black like Arya's future as Joff's queen. She was lovely. _Beautiful_. Innocent in her white shift, a stranger to him now yet so familiar. 

Jon leaned in closer and Arya's face turned toward him - a woman's face, matured and alluring - and her eyes fluttered open, long lashes raising to expose the dark grey, seemingly catching the moonlight in them to make them shine. Shock and confusion parted her lips as her eyes widened and Jon quickly bent over to clasp a hand over her mouth. Small, soft lips tried to move underneath his grasp but he would have none of it and he refused to release his hand, even as her arms reached up and her legs flailed. Her hands grasped his and he felt nails digging in. Pleasure and pain coursed through him as he felt his skin being clawed and blood being drawn.

"Always a little fighter," he whispered hoarsely. "Except when it comes to marrying a royal prick, it seems." He wanted to sound harsh, commanding, but it came out wrenched from his bleeding heart.

She kicked at him then, her eyes narrowing. He caught her leg as he hastily, clumsily climbed onto the bed. Her flesh was taut and smooth and a perverse wave of lust washed over him. Without preamble his hand snaked up underneath her shift and he discovered she wore no smallclothes. Greedily his hand glided down between her legs to her center, touching the silkiness of her pubic hair before massaging around her soft folds. Instantly she stilled and he felt her legs relax and spread. He let a small chuckle escape his lips before his slight smile faded and he growled.

 Joffrey would have her under him like this every night if he chose. Joffrey would take her maidenhead tomorrow night and he would be able to fuck her any way he wanted. In her cunt, up her arse, inside her small little mouth. She would be owned by him. She would no longer be Jon's. 

_Tonight_.Tonight Jon could at least lay claim to her first. After all, he was the one who loved her first and best. He would always love her. Joffrey knew nothing of how to love anyone except himself and no doubt he would treat Arya brutally, rudely, not caring for her pleasure or her comfort. Jon cloaked his helplessness and despair in a torrid storm of lust and possessiveness. He could not steal her away but he could take her innocence so that Joffrey could not have it. It would be a small victory but a very satisfying one.

Jon moved his hand tentatively away from Arya's mouth and she nipped at him as he did so, catching the fleshy part below his thumb. Her teeth sunk in and he nearly yelped before he yanked away. He still savored the contact, craved it.

"Welome home, brother." Her voice was husky, low and sensuous. Gone was the girly, high-pitched tone. Gone was his little sister. Gone. "Here to attend my wedding?"

"No." He withdrew his hand from her cunt. Without preamble he grasped her thin shift by both hands, tearing the flimsy fabric away to expose her fully to him. Her breasts rose and fell under dark strands of hair as she started to pant; her nipples were small and dark and protruding. His Arya with breasts and dark hair on her perfect cunt. Was she even Arya anymore? 

Their lips crashed together now and tongues matched; no thought for gentleness as his hands greedily explored her body. Yet her sinewy skin was nothing compared to the heat between her legs and it wasn't long before his hand found his way back down, this time two fingers delving into her wet heat. He loved the pleasurable cry she emitted into his mouth before she bit his bottom lip. Somewhere his mind told him to be gentle but his body did not comply and neither did Arya's as she bucked up into his fingers, making him push deeper in her soft well.

"I should drag you out to the Godswood and fuck you under the Weirwood tree," he growled, his cock painfully straining against his breeches now as his fingers pumped her. "Show the old Gods how little I care for them, how little I care that they deemed Joffery worthy of you."

"What choice do I have?" Arya stuttered her words, gasping, her hips raising higher to accommodate his fingers even more. Even though she was a maiden, she was a wolf, and as one she gave in to the animal pleasure; he felt a surge of wetness on his fingers as she started swelling around them. "Jon, oh gods -"

"You're mine." His lips left hers to find her neck, his teeth sinking in. He felt her squirm. "Your maidenhead is mine."

"I am no one's." The defiance was in her voice as she pushed at him, struggling now, her legs kicking into him so fiercely he pulled his fingers out of her and he threw his weight down on her to trap her. "You have been gone for years. Left me to my own devices."

"And now I am here." Her struggling enraged him, hurt him. "And you are mine. We both know it, have always known. I want no other."

"You are my brother. We are not Targs!" She smacked at his head then, pulling on his hair. It smarted, stung his scalp, inflamed his passion and inflamed his ire. "I am to marry a Prince, unify our houses -"

"You fucking sound like Sansa," he spat. Thinking of Arya being anything like Sansa drove him further insane as he grappled to unlace his breeches. His cock sprang free, hard as a rock and weeping profusely at the tip. "That little prick will not have your maidenhead. I will."

Jon spread her legs apart, the sight of her pink opening exposed nearly driving him insane. In a heartbeat he slid down, clutching at her hips, basking in her scent before taking a long swipe of his tongue through her folds. She tasted better than any ale he ever drank and lapped into her, thirsting for her juices. At least this was something new to her, something he was the first to do; he was sure of it when she cried out in surprise, her hands grasping for his head, pushing him in. It was all the encouragement he needed to lick into her, his tongue finding her small but now swollen clit. Expertly he swirled it before closing his mouth around to suck, eliciting barely stifled whimpers from her. It took no time for her to climax and the sweet surge of wetness, combined with her pulsing and strangled cry, made him nearly spill then and there. Struggling for control, Jon eased back up and drove his cock into her tightness, groaning at the feel of her flowing and warm and clamping around him. Curiously, Arya did not cry out in shock or pain or even discomfort, even as he started to thrust fully up into her. Beyond his own obscene pleasure he looked down into her eyes and she was smirking and gasping at the same time. 

"Arya -" He thrust harder as her legs wrapped around him and her nails raked down across the back of his neck to the top of his tunic. He heard her... laughing? Why was she -

"You think I would let Joffrey Baratheon take my maidenhead? You truly do not know me anymore, Jon. No man will take my maidenhead. I would have let you, but you are sworn to the Watch and it could never be."

"Wha- what?" He gasped as he pushed harder and her laughing stopped. "How -"

"Local village hag - specializes in making - ah! Ah!" She was gasping for air. "Cocks made of the smoothest wood - perfect for fucking yourself with. I fucked myself bloody -"

"Fuck, Arya!" Her admission turned him on and infuriated him at the same time. Joff would not take her innocence... but neither would he. _Neither would he_. She was no longer pure for him. She had been violated by her own means, robbing him of claiming her for himself first. She was no one's. Not even his. Even as he felt robbed, he understood her. His Arya. It fitted her. And he grew even more heated at the image he created in his mind of her using a wooden phallus on herself.

Suddenly he pulled out of her and rolled her over, shoving her down into the pillows, holding her neck, enjoying her surprised squeak and the feel of her pulse throbbing wildly against his hand.

"You bugger your arse, too?" Jon looked down at her shapely, smooth ass. "Joff can still take another maidenhead."

 His middle finger, still wet from her juices, made its way through the crack of her ass to her tiny puckered hole. He felt her tense but he didn't care as he wriggled his way in, pumping. It felt almost as good as her cunt, mostly because she whined and clawed at the bed sheets. The thought of taking her arse overwhelmed him. He must be a depraved bastard, after all.

Lost in his own lusts, his whole body relaxed for a moment, in contrast to his cock, and it was just enough time for Arya to slam a foot upwards into his groin. He bit his lip to stop from shouting in pain as he withdrew his finger and crumpled; enough time for Arya to maneuver out from under him and push him over, yanking his loosened breeches down far enough for her to wriggle her hand down. It was cool and felt good against the pain but then she jammed two of her slender fingers into his own arse, mercilessly fucking him. It burned and hurt and he was at her will for a few moments but somewhere in the dull shock of discomfort there was some other sensation starting to form as well. 

"See?" She was gasping still, her whispering voice caressing and cutting at the same time. "See what it's like getting it up the arse without preparing? Never took you for an insensitive clod like Joff. Maybe I'll fetch Needle and work the hilt in. Show you good and proper."

"Go ahead," he rasped, trying to snarl. Her fingers were starting to feel good. They were her fingers, Arya's fingers, and even this violation was welcome, even as he understood that she was teaching him a lesson. "I am suprised you haven't used Needle on yourself."

"I tried." 

She pushed away from him and Jon hated the whine that escaped his lips when he felt her fingers leave. She made a move to leap off the bed, presumably to find the precious sword he gifted her. For a dazed moment, Jon envisioned them in their own solar together, playing sexual games in happily wedded bliss. It was not to be. They were not Targs. She would never be his wife. Besides, a Lady would never be allowed to marry a bastard...

"No." His lifted himself up and pounced on her, dragging her back beneath him. "I want you, Arya. I need you." He knew his voice had turned pleading, needy. He just didn't care. Arya was the only one he could ever be who he was with no pretense, no barriers.

Through his pain he had not lost his erection and he pinned her down, hands squeezing hers under his into the mattress as he entered her again, this time gently. He fucked her slowly, tempering his strokes, his madness turning into something more palatable. His head buried back down into her neck, sucking the blood to the surface and marking her. Let her try to hide that tomorrow. It was no concern of his as he listened to her sigh and moan, spurring him on by matching him his methodical thrusting. His lips found her ear and he licked it before whispering in a drawl of pure euphoria.

"You robbed me of your maidenhead. But I can still be the first." The tightening in his belly was forming and he couldn't help but quicken his pace, nearly losing control as she emitted little cries of ecstacy under him.He knew he couldn't last much longer as he released one of her hands to travel down between them to stroke at her clit, saturated with her arousal and her perspiration. "The first to fill you with a child."

All his life the idea of fathering a bastard had sickened him. He vowed never to leave a bastard in any woman. Joining the Night's Watch has made sure he wouldn't, but then Ygritte happened. He would never know if his seed took root, as she died far too soon to tell. Now, it was all he wanted with Arya. To fill her up with his son or daughter. To know that the future King Joffrey's firstborn was his own. To know he and Arya would at least share something in this world when they were worlds apart -

"Jon." She was soft, pliant, and he moved to look into her eyes. "Do you think Joff would live long enough to even attempt to father any child of my body?"

"Arya -"

"He will die. I will make sure of it. I will not be long as Joff's blushing bride. If I cannot be your bride, I will suffer no husband -"

Jon cut her words off with a fierce, passionate kiss, which she returned. Over and over they kissed deeply, saturated with desperation and lust for their love and for Joffrey's spilled blood. His murdering, beautiful Arya. His lovely, cumming Arya, tensing under him as he felt her contracting around his cock with her second orgasm. She cried out into his mouth and he swallowed those cries, took them as deeply inside of him as she was taking his cock. His hand moved away from her satisfied clit to pull her close as his own orgasm crashed over him. He spilled all he had into her womb, hoping it would take root, kissing her hard to keep himself quiet.

"Arya. Arya." His mouth tore away to lavish kisses on her neck down to her breasts where he sucked and licked her hardened nipples. "Arya, I would die for you."

"You don't need to," she sighed breathlessly. "I have found a way to keep the country from dividing. This farce of a wedding will remedy the damage done by Robb and Sansa, but in the end Joffrey will not live long. Nor will he ever fuck me. I'll make that clear to him on our wedding night."

He felt her hands thread through his curls. Soft now, not pulling, not hurting. The flush of possession abated but not the need of her. Rather, his need for her had only increased as he now knew the bliss of her body. They only had a few hours at most. He was going to make the most of it, starting by taking her again, and then by licking her clean of the evidence of their union seeping between her legs.

"Arya, I love you," he murmured, all jealousy and desperation gone."I love only you. I will love no other." He felt her hands tighten in his curls.

"As I love you," she whispered fiercely. "Joff is not long for this world, I swear it."

In the semi-darkness he smiled against her skin.

 

His Arya. He should have known she could handle herself.


End file.
